


Rosebud

by orphan_account



Category: House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Pillow Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-18 18:56:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2358701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Francis and Edward's Pillow talk</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rosebud

“Turn over, darlin’. Let me see that pink rosebud of yours,” Francis drawls, petting Edward’s back, bending lower to knead the Agent’s round, muscular buttocks. Edward is off-duty, fresh from the shower and ready for anything. Still, he hesitates, turning slowly and biting his lip until he can’t hold his laughter in any longer.

“Rosebud, Sir?” Edward asks, spreading his legs as he pulls up his knees to provide ample exposure.

“Oh!” exclaims the President, resting his head against the small of Edward’s back, laughing himself. “Sorry!” he giggles, patting his lover’s quivering ass. “Sort of an inside joke between me and Claire,” Francis explains.

“Sounds like something you’d read in a romance novel. Or a porno,” Edward suggests, flipping over to face Francis, his erect cock bouncing against the President’s cheek.

“Well, you’re right on both accounts,” smiles Francis. “I wish Claire were here instead of at that goddamn conference – she could tell the story better than I can.”

“Will you try?” asks Edward, hissing with pleasure as Francis nudges his forefinger against his opening while simultaneously licking Edward.

“Darlin’, I’d do anything for _you_ ,” Francis proclaims, taking one last taste before beginning.

“It was while we were campaigning for my first re-election,” the former House Whip explains. “It’s hard, you know; flurries of intense concentration interrupted by long stretches of boredom. Lots and lots of driving between events, sitting backstage for what seemed like hours before going on stage to speak my piece. Claire, oh Claire was magnificent – always so calm and collected, never complaining. But this time she’d lost the book she brought to read or just plain forgot it. Regardless, she was getting bored and one afternoon, after I’d given a speech at a Ladies Tea, she mentioned her problem to this blue-haired old lady. Well, the old society dame just smiled, sweet as sugar, and pulled out this book from her handbag. It was called…” Francis rubs his lips, eyes closed. He smiles. “The book was called ‘Nora’s Dilemma’; the cover was shiny gold with a huge pink rose bud and the back blathered on about a Victorian governess’s quest for romance. In short - a fairly typical romance novel, which Claire normally hates but later on in the afternoon she finally cracks the book open. And that’s when she finds out…”

Edward props himself up on his elbows, the motion sending Francis’s lube slick finger directly against the Secret Service Agent’s prostate.

“Ahh, found…out….what, Sir?”

Francis chuckles. “That Nora’s dilemma is that there weren’t enough cocks to fulfill her appetite for anal stimulation. Every other page referred to her having her ‘pink rosebud’ reamed by the gardener, the stable boy, the blacksmith, the Lord of the Manor, the Vicar! Pink rosebud this and Pink rosebud that! It was disgusting. So _of course_ I had her read it out in the car while I drove from event to event. By the night of the election, ‘Pink Rosebud’ was one of those silly little jokes married people share; if either of us spots an arrangement of roses, we nudge each other and have a chuckle.”

“That’s sweet,” Edward sighs, fluttering his long dark eyelashes as Francis adds a second finger.

“Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Plunge your cock into Claire’s rosebud that night?”

Francis stops pumping his fingers, laughing again. This is why he felt so deeply for Edward. It wasn’t just the sex, which was fantastic; no, nobody had made the Machiavellian man from Gatney laugh like Edward, nobody since…Tim and that was a lifetime ago. He kisses Edward’s hip.

“Yes, I did,” he replied, winking lecherously at the flushed, panting younger man.

Edward moans, his face tight with concentration. “Remember when I first started working for you? The Peachoid? I was listening to you meet with the local politicians and you talked about the Peachoid’s sphincter. You…you drawled it out and damn, it made me so hot for you!” Edward confesses brokenly.

“Sphinc-tuhh,” Francis drawls obliging, laying on his thickest southern accent. Edward shivers.

“But I believe the proper word is ‘anus’,” Francis adds.

“But that sounds so clinical,” Edward complains, turning onto his side so Francis can spoon behind him, slipping the fat head of his cock against Edward’s ‘rosebud’; Edward pushes back and Francis is in.

“I once heard a recording of Lyndon Johnson ordering a pair of pants, a special order because his balls were so big. Normal pants pulled them so high they hurt,” grunts the President. “Johnson then went on to refer to his anus as his _bunghole_!”

Edward twists his shoulders and neck, leaning back to kiss Francis before exclaiming, “Bunghole? Oh! That’s terrible!”

Francis kisses back, reaching around to hold Edward’s erection, giving it a lazy tug. “I agree. Even if has has Presidential precedent, I promise I’ll never call yours that. Or Claire’s.”

They fall silent except for soft moans and grunts. It really has been a long day and neither tries particularly to draw things out. Edward comes first, spilling into Francis’s hand. The President follows, almost immediately, spurred on by his lover’s tight spasms. Breathing heavily, Francis rests his head against Edward’s damp shoulder, resting his hand against the left of Edward’s chest; his heart is beating so fast.

“I have it,” he exclaims, startling Edward, who is already nearly asleep.

“What?”

“Sometimes in old R & B songs, they talk about a 'back door man'. It usually means a man who sneaks out the back door after sleeping with a married lady. But I’ve heard Freddy using ‘back door’ to describe the asshole.”

“Back door is much better than asshole, anus or bunghole,” Edward agrees sleepily. “Maybe even better than sphincter.”

They laugh and Francis starts to hum a bluesy little riff. He kisses Edward again and begins to sing, making up the lyrics as he goes.

"Let me tell you, Edward; Baby you gotta understand”

“Let me tell you, Edward, Baby - this isn’t what I planned”

“Let me spread my honey on your peaches”

“Baby, let me be your back door man!”

 

 


End file.
